Molly Young at the New York Times takes a look at why nobody on Monday morning at the office has a good answer anymore for the “How was your weekend?” query:

The reason is obvious: We no longer go out. And why would we, when the allure of staying in has reached irresistible proportions? Why risk a restaurant when you can order Seamless or sauté premade gnocchi from Blue Apron? Why go to a bar when you can swipe right? Why go to a reading when you can download a podcast? Why pay $15 to see a boneheaded Marvel rehash in theaters when the world of premium streaming content is at your fingertips? Food, entertainment, romance: The traditional weekend staples are now available entirely on demand. The centripetal force of our homes has never been stronger.

The rise of city-dwellers staying in is hard to quantify; how do you measure the frequency with which people don’t leave their homes? But culture, as usual, offers a mirror. Of all the customs that seem dated on shows like “Sex and the City” and “Entourage,” one of the most glaring is how often the characters went out — to premieres, cocktail parties, restaurant openings (are those even still a thing?), art openings, clubs … events. Multiple events in one evening! These tableaux have been replaced by Abbi and Ilana of “Broad City” getting trapped on the Internet all night and the stylishly domesticated Dev and Rachel on “Master of None” barely leaving their apartment.

Read on for lots more astute analysis and some stuff about Willa Cather. I particularly like the part about the upsides of going out (“You could have a life-altering adventure, meet your soul mate, find your new best friend”). And the line, “[W]hat’s the point of living in a city if you treat it like a suburb?”

I was coming back from the gym and still had my headphones in my ears when I saw you pull into the parking spot, so I didn’t hear that your car’s engine was still running when you got out and closed the door. It looked like you were walking away from your car instead of simply checking to make sure your rear bumper wasn’t sticking over the crosswalk. I swear I wasn’t trying to be a condescending jerk by cheerfully reminding you to turn your wheels as I walked by and I could plainly see that you, ‘Knew how to fucking drive.’ I misread the situation and was just trying to keep you from getting an expensive parking ticket.

Best SF blogger of all time Brock Keeling the other day posted this thoughtful seasonal greeting on Facebook:

In between your unfollow-worthy posts about Donald Trump vs. Bernie Sanders, “Merry Christmas” vs. “Happy Holidays,” imported vs. locally-sourced terrorism, and other Daily Show- vs. FOX News-inspired dreck you insist on shouting to followers who think and feel exactly the same way you do — far be it from me that I should tell anyone to stop screaming into a bag of birdseed! — cushion your self-righteous updates with one like my own:

Socks remain one of the most requested clothing items at homeless shelters, but rarely the most donated. Freezing temps, blisters, and infections are common conditions that can lead to more serious health issues for our homeless population. Go ahead and donate a bag or five of socks to your nearest shelter. (Black non-dress socks, imo, are ideal because they last longer and are better suited for inevitable job interviews.) But best of all, not only will you feel better inside your own crazy head, you’ll get to make pious, grandstanding posts like this one. Fabulous.

There is no greater horror (in a life with few horrors) than getting the check after dining or drinking with a large group of people. The worst worst time is when everyone has cash except for you, so they’re like “How about you put it on your card and we’ll give you money?” That innocent sounding “How about…” always ends with you putting $200 on your debit card and them handing you 16 crumpled ones, and you being like, “What the fuck?” and everyone being like “I put in the correct amount PLUS a little extra for tax,” and then turning back to their conversations to leave you to be evicted from your apartment. The best worst time is when some extremely chill person who has never been out to dinner before is like “Just give me your cash and I’ll put it on my card,” and you’re like “Okay,” but are thinking: welcome to hell motherfucker.

Read on for Ramona’s latest check-splitting horror, at an outdoor bar in Brooklyn.

When you’re saying something is located in a neighborhood that ends in “Hill,” do you say “in” or “on”? Like, I say “You know, Thee Parkside, over on Potrero Hill,” or “That is the douchiest place on Russian Hill, and that’s saying something.” Sally obviously prefers the “in” usage, as in “My bro sold his startup to Google and bought a place in Rincon Hill.” Is either one right or are they both cool? I don’t know. *shrugs*

Tough one! Maybe think geographically? Thee Parkside is technically in the Potrero Hill neighborhood, but it is not on the hill. So I’d say “in.” Whereas Blooms Saloon is definitely *on* Potrero Hill, so maybe I’d say, “Blooms, on Potrero Hill.” Or would I? Hard to say.